Dear 'Sleepless in Seattle'
by leafyaki
Summary: Allen will never fall in love again. Packing up his life, he decides to move to Seattle with his son, Jean. Two years and countless of sleepless nights later, Jean decides he needs to help – and he begins by calling a radio station. An Allen/Lavi story.
1. Prologue: It Must Have Been Love

**Title**: Dear 'Sleepless in Seattle'

**Summary**: Allen Walker will never fall in love again. Packing up his life, he decides to move from Chicago to Seattle with his son, Jean. Two years and countless of sleepless nights later, Jean decides he needs to help – and he begins by calling a radio station.

**Pairing(s)**: **Allen/Lavi**, Allen/Lou Fa, Lavi/Sachiko (Chomesuke)

**Disclaimer**: This applies to the whole story – I do not own D. Gray-man and will never presume that I do. This plot does not belong to me either, it is borrowed from and written with great appreciation to Sleepless in Seattle.

.

**Prologue**: It Must Have Been Love

* * *

"Here."

Anita placed a small packet on the table, glancing at Allen to see if he heard. Allen continued staring out the window.

"Microwave this for five minutes before eating, alright? You can't go wrong with microwaving – I don't think you two could possibly poison yourselves with this…"

"Oh," Mahoja picked up a whole box, putting it on the table as well. "This should last you two a month until we can visit again – "

"And use this steam-iron for your clothes, it's much more manageable than the iron you have…"

Anita trailed off when Allen didn't even turn to look at her.

"Allen?" She said softly, cautiously.

Allen blinked. He slowly registered the fact that outside, sheets of rain were falling from the sky, wetting his window and making the world outside seem a gray, dreary place. He remembered that Anita and Mahoja had wanted to make sure that he was okay, and he knew that in an hour he would be picking up Jean from his school.

But why, he mused, did the world continue turning even after all this time? Why was there still school, and the need for food, and the rain falling over the world when the day of the funeral had shone bright and clear?

It didn't really make sense.

Turning slightly and meeting Anita's worried gaze out of the corner of his eyes, he said, "Microwave for five minutes."

Anita looked on, her brow furrowed. Allen nodded.

He then turned back and continued watching the world outside his window go by.

.

It had been exactly two weeks since Lou Fa died, and Allen missed her terribly.

They had a small funeral in the middle of busy Chicago, Jean standing beside him and looking as solemn as he had been. It was a rare expression on the ten year old boy's face, and Allen had wished he would never have to wear that look of potent sorrow and maturity for a long, long time. He felt like he had failed in some way as a father to the boy.

Bending down, he had held the boy and broke down, weeping into the tiny shoulder. All that time Jean had been his pillar of support.

Two weeks since, and Allen was simply tired.

"Here. 'The Support Group for Widowers'."

Allen eyed the small card that was tossed onto his table. Even Klaud looked as tired as he was, sympathetic though her eyes were.

He sighed and took out a small box overflowing with cards, starting to name them off in a monotone.

"'Support Group for Single Parents'," he tossed the card over his shoulder, "'Support Group for the Bereaved'," it met the same demise as its twin, "'We CARE'," Allen was tossing cards three at a time now, allowing them to flutter to the floor, "'Hug Yourself'?"

The last was said with a slight grimace on his face. The whole box was swept to the ground, making a faint clanking sound as it landed. Klaud smiled, slightly amused.

"It's like a business."

Allen scowled. "It _is_ a business."

Klaud sighed and scanned his table. Besides scattered debris and one more small box still filled with cards, there was nothing to indicate Allen had ever worked there. The cardboard box beside the table was filled with his equipment, plans, books – and on top of the pile was a picture frame carefully placed, a photo of Allen, Lou Fa and Jean out at the carnival for a day catching the light and beaming back at her faintly.

"You're really leaving, then," she said quietly, eyes still on the picture.

Allen paused in his cleaning and looked out the window. Chicago, always lively, was visible from this second floor space. Just downstairs was the pizza shop he and Lou Fa frequented in his lunch hour, and a few kilometers or so to the east he would enter the beautiful park from where the looming, dazzling city of Chicago would greet him.

He had dreamed, since he was young, of working and living here. Now, though…

His lips twisted up at the edges. "I need a new environment."

He closed his eyes. "_Jean_ needs a new environment."

Klaud nodded, her eyes sad, but accepting the fact of his moving. "You were a good colleague, Walker."

Allen smiled. He would miss his colleagues too, steady Klaud, enthusiastic Chaoji, jittery Miranda – but the city was simply too full of the memories, memories of Lou Fa in the streets, the evidence of them having lived together scattered throughout the little flat they had. He needed a place to start anew and move on with his life, for both him and Jean.

Klaud held out her hand. Allen blinked at it, hands still in the motion of clearing the debris on his table.

"You won't even say goodbye?" She said with a small smile.

Allen chuckled and shook his head. Reaching out, he grasped her hand firmly, knowing this was the last time either of them would be seeing each other for a long while to come.

* * *

**Notes**:

My family was horrified to hear that I had never watched Sleepless in Seattle before. They decided to remedy it. A plot bunny was born.

Lavi will appear soon :D I quite love the movie, but while I'm keeping most of the plot, I will be adapting and twisting it according to the personalities that we know – here's to hoping it goes well!

Comments are much loved (:


	2. Chapter 1: Twilight Side of the Hill

**Title:** Dear 'Sleepless in Seattle'

**Chapter 1: **Twilight Side of the Hill

* * *

**Eighteen Months**** Later, 23 December 2007**

"Alright, how do I look?"

Sachiko wasn't the vainest of women. After having known her for so long, Lavi knew that she hardly cared for social etiquette, often laughing loudly and freely even in the middle of sophisticated restaurants. And that was what Lavi liked about her, her joyous outlook on life, her lazy grin, her sometimes unkempt hair.

So to have her fretting as she was now, hands on her hips and clearly demanding an answer from Lavi, well…it surprised him, to say the least. He blinked. Then his lips widened into a grin, eye crinkling at the corner.

"Looking fab, darling."

She had a small frown that said she had heard Lavi's flattery before too many times and didn't know whether to believe it.

"I don't believe you," she concluded, tone flat, eyes narrowed.

"Honestly, you do! Anyway, this is my family we're talking about. Bring Cross the booze and he'll love you forever."

"Oh!" She gasped and ran over to the car, almost slipping on the wet pavement in her haste. She wrenched open the backdoor and slammed her hip against the car seat. The pile of presents stopped their downward descent against her hip. "Where's the booze, Lavi, the booze!"

"Relax! It's in my car!"

"Oh," she paused and looked at Lavi, scrutinizing him. "Why we had to drive both cars here still baffles me."

"Well," Lavi shrugged, hauling his own handful of gifts out the car and staggering under the weight, "you have to visit your aunt after this and _I_" – using his hip he pushed the door close – "have to get back to finish the work for Bookman."

Coming close with the gifts balanced in her hand, she somehow managed to maneuver herself next to Lavi, pecking his cheek. "Oh yes, yes, I know all that, it's just I never know about you and your driving – "

"Are you harping on about my depth perception again, cruel woman?" Lavi said. He looked at her with a pout, eye shining in the streetlamp they were standing underneath.

Sachiko pretended to think for a while. Then she nodded.

Lavi growled. "Oh, that's it, Cho – you're getting a good spanking from me afterwards."

Her eyes darkened and she grinned, lips twisting up deliciously. "Is that a promise, de-ar?"

Lavi groaned. "When we get back to Baltimore."

She hummed and started walking up the path, swishing her hips side to side deliberately and looking back over her shoulder with the grin still on her lips. How she managed that with the hazardous boxes in her arms, Lavi would never know. He could only gulp and rush to catch up.

God, he loved her, and that did pretty much remind him of the mission they had tonight –

.

"Idiot!" Cross shouted over the laughter and conversation. "Told you it's the _Romanee Conti_, boy, not this shit thing you bought!"

"Hey!" Lavi said, dodging a ball of mashed potatoes flung his way. "You _didn't_ say that, old man!"

"You disrespecting yer elders, brat!" Cross growled. But it wasn't exactly convincing as he popped the cork open anyway, pouring a generous amount into both his and Maria's glasses. "Oi, Sokaro! Want more, you noisy bastard you!"

"Like hell!" Sokaro roared back, pulling his head back from the halfway sober conversation he was having with Emilia. "Real men drink beer, not wine, you sissy!"

"Oh, really," Emilia sighed, the only voice of sanity in this room. "Stop arguing already, Winters. Have some turkey. You alright, Sachiko, dear?"

Sachiko grinned from where she was seated between Emilia and Lavi, shoes comfortably kicked off and her blouse untucked. "I'm beginning to like your family, Lavi," she said.

"Oh dear lord, no," Lavi chuckled and slung his arm around the back of her chair. "Don't you go liking them. Maria and Emmy here are the only nice ones, trust me."

"Glad you think so, my boy," Maria said as she strode in with the dessert, evading Cross's attempt to pinch her butt. "And you," she said as she proceeded to pull Cross's ear after putting down the platter safely, "stop throwing food around."

"Lighten up, sweetheart!" Cross said, a grin that was probably meant to be seductive settling on his face. Maria, immune to it after years of living together, simply pulled harder.

"Crazy old Maria and Cross," Lavi muttered, sipping his wine.

"It's easy to see the relation," Sachiko said with a decisive nod. She sipped at her wine.

"Oh?" Emilia asked with a laugh evident in her voice. She and Sachiko shared a conspirator's grin.

"Yeah. The way Lavi flirts is exactly how Cross flirts."

Lavi looked like he was struck dumb with horror. Cross looked similarly disgusted.

"Now, darling," Cross drawled, proceeding to lean in a surprisingly steady move in Sachiko's direction, "I'm far better than that brat you're dating. Ain't that right, eh, boy?"

The smirk on his face was simply far too infuriating. Lavi glared back.

"Well, good thing that she's engaged to me instead of you then, huh, old pops?"

There was utter silence for a while. Lavi only then registered what he had just said. He turned a panicked look on Sachiko.

In that moment of utter silence, with the fire crackling behind them and the remains of a good Christmas dinner scattered on the table before her, Sachiko laughed, head thrown back, the blank looks of uncomprehending confusion written in their eyes too much for her to handle.

It was then the table exploded.

"What – congratulations!" Emilia's eyes shone with excitement.

"Oh, my lovely boy – well done, you!"

"'Bout time that boy of yours gets laid, eh, Marian!"

"Oi, Sokaro! You dare doubt my skills – "

"Didn't know you had it in yer, brat!"

Sachiko pushed her chair back and stood up, grin bright in the excitement.

"Your red-headed brat and I are indeed getting married. Soon-ish," she added thoughtfully, her head tilted to the side.

"Well, this does call for a toast!" Emilia said, lifting her glass.

"Yeah, whatever," Cross raised his wine glass, which Lavi supposed was as much as a congratulations he could squeeze out of his old man.

Lavi laughed and placed his arm around Sachiko, raising his glass to the light, and was just glad that he had gotten the announcement out and received their blessings in reply – unconventional as those blessings were.

.

It was after dinner that Cross somehow got his balance and dragged Lavi to a room, something about a father-son talk.

That made Lavi truly, honestly, scared. Cross _never_ did father-son talks. Ever. He braced himself for something to happen.

To his surprise, Cross just lit up a cigarette and sat heavily in his chair, studying the boy.

"So," he started.

"…Yeah?" Lavi replied, eloquent as could be.

"Marriage."

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

Lavi didn't know how many times he had to repeat himself. "I'm sure." He moved closer to a chair, wondering whether Cross would demand for him to remain standing. Cross waved him to sit in it, his eyes looking somewhere far off.

"Hmm," he brought the cigarette up and inhaled deeply, eyes still distant. "You know, when Maria and I met – "

Lavi nearly wanted to ask, _you bedded her?_ But he was rather sure that would earn him a punch in his face, so he kept quiet.

Cross scratched his head.

"I kinda knew it."

Lavi stared. Then he blinked.

"Huh?"

Cross nodded, sagely. "Knew she was the one for me."

_You, the womanizer, __**knew**__ she was the one?_ Again, in the favour of preserving his balls, Lavi kept silent.

"Her eyes," Cross pointed at his own pair. "Woman was trying to reach for the beer right at the top, and I helped her."

How very Heineken-inspired, indeed. Lavi didn't even get to voice that out before Cross was digging in his pocket and throwing something at him. Lavi barely caught the box.

"Necklace or something, for the girl, from your grandma."

If Lavi were the sentimental type, he supposed he should have sniffled and said something along the lines of "aww." Instead, he just opened it and looked at the rather beautiful pearl necklace.

Cross shrugged. "Suppose it's yours."

"Was it mom's?"

"Maria? Wore it once, for the wedding, then kept it for you. Probably wished you were a girl, then she'd be gushing over it with you. Like little girls. Not that there's much difference."

Lavi sighed, used to the barb. He picked up the necklace, admiring the way it shone even in the low light, and thinking, well, it was the nicest gift he'd ever get from Cross, and it would look beautiful on Sachiko –

Then something snapped. And it was only a moment later that he realized, dimly, that the pearls were slipping, dropping one by one to the ground.

They were shining, on the ground, by his shoes. Lavi stared. Cross brought his cigarette down and puffed out a cloud of smoking, staring at him through the smoke.

"A sign," he said, expressionless.

"No such thing as signs," Lavi thought he heard himself saying automatically.

Cross shrugged. "Not a sign, then." He turned back to contemplating the window.

Lavi knew how he and Sachiko had met. They had placed their identical black bags next to each other's in a public library, and it was only after Lavi had reached home that he realized his bag contained, of all things, a packet of sanitary pad in it, and he had headed back to the library to meet up with the owner of the real bag. They had laughed about it afterwards. He had thought with his rational mind then that it was a sign.

Lavi shook his head, numb. "It's not a sign."

"Yeah, whatever," Cross said. He stubbed his cigarette out in the ash-tray before shooing Lavi out to speak with his mother.

.

"They liked you," Lavi said with a grin.

"I suppose," Sachiko said, her eyes twinkling. "Perhaps they were just worried you'll never get anywhere in life. And at this rate you won't," she ended in a sing-song fashion, pointing to her watch.

Lavi looked at the time and yelped, scrambling to get out of the house. After a lot of hollering, dodging things thrown by Cross, and a long kiss goodbye from Sachiko, he found himself in his car and making the long drive to Baltimore, the necessity of meeting Bookman before breaking for Christmas making the trip necessary.

He had near forgotten the pearl incident, though the box weighed heavy in his pocket.

Whether it was coincidence, fate, or sheer lack of luck, it seemed the radio stations were being cruel to him that particular night.

" – _which sign matches good with mine – _"

He pressed the button.

"_I just broke up with my boyfriend, and so near to Christmas too – _"

Press.

" – _do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign –_ "

Press.

" – _and here's the horrible thing, he just wouldn't let me orgasm before he decides to pull out and go for a snack!_"

Raise of an eyebrow. Press.

"_Listen, I want a new mum. Or a new dad, whichever, can you help me there or what?_"

Pre – wait a minute.

That actually sounded…vaguely interesting. Humming and making sure to keep his eye on the road, Lavi allowed himself to settle on this radio station.

.

Jean growled and paced the living room. It was nearly eleven, the dinner table had long been cleared, the radio was playing behind him, and his father was _still outside_.

He stalked over to the window and gripped the corner of the curtain, lifting it up. Yup, still standing under the light of their porch and examining their boat, or somesuch – more likely than not he was _moping_ while pretending to be doing some constructive work, hoping Jean was in bed by now.

Jean was not having any of that.

"What to do, what to do?" He let the curtain drop and leaned against the window sill, placing his cheek in his palm, fingers tapping against his face. After a while he threw himself away from the sill and resumed his pacing with greater intensity, as he tried to think of ways to somehow help his father.

The moping, by all means, should have been done a hell of a long time ago. Yes, Jean missed his mother. Yes, Allen did his best, and succeeded at it too, to be there for Jean and Jean knew that he was loved and all that, sappy mushy stuff though it was. And for most of the year they were fine too, as contented as they could be in this rainy little state with their pleasant lakeside house and a boat with which they could go fishing. School was a nuisance, but he had made new friends there and Allen had his new colleagues. In all aspects, he was proud to say that they had adapted to life here pretty well.

Yet the closer it got to Christmas and the New Year, the quieter his father became and the mistier his eyes, even as he tried to hide it from Jean, going about cheerfully with Christmas decorations and the like.

Jean was not _stupid_ – his father was still depressed, and that was _not_ on. And so he wanted him to get out of that funk.

"…_And that was "I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues" by Elton John. A rather lonely song for this evening, isn't it? Good evening and if you are just tuned in, this is our special Christmas Programme on 753FM…"_

Great, just fantastic. Even the radio station was supporting his father being all nostalgic and sad. Now what was he supposed to do? Think, Jean, think, damnit – Jean landed on the sofa with a huff, his limbs flopping around him. He tilted his head back against the couch, thinking, hoping the new position helped him to think.

"…_After __this we will have some Christmas carols to lighten things up. But first, do you have any special wish you want to make for this festive season? Perhaps you are hoping to get together with that special someone, or perhaps you just want to share your good wishes with all of us here at PRIME. Call us at 753-PRIME, that's 753-77463, share your wishes with us – this is Johnny with you on 753FM…"_

Yeah, wishes, wishes. As if just some random people could fulfill wishes. Johnny, was it? Jean scoffed, kicking his feet against the carpet, eyes still trained on the ceiling.

But then again, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do…by society's standards he was still a darn kid. A smart kid, Allen had assured him after he threw the last onion bomb in his face. But still a kid. Jean hated feeling helpless – maybe, just maybe, he could convince some other people to convince his father to stop sulking…

His eyes narrowed. Bringing his head down with a sigh, he eyed the kitchen doorway, a calculative gleam in his eyes.

.

Being a radio DJ, Johnny Gill realized, kinda sucked.

As he jabbed his finger on the "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" track for the hundredth time in the past week, he looked out forlornly through the glass pane where Reever was sprawled on the couch, nearly comatose.

Reever was a great boss. It was just that the poor man had been stuck as supervisor for nearly every program by the anal Leverrier. The sheen on his face was definitely not healthy, Johnny thought with a sigh. Beside the man, Tapp gave him a thumbs-up, headphones securely attached. At least that meant Johnny wasn't doing anything colossally wrong with the programme.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he was wrong. Being a _trainee_ radio DJ, now that really did suck. Not only did it mean that he was given the midnight shifts, it also meant that he was the underling for nearly every other DJ. Again, not that Reever and Tapp were horrible seniors, but he wished that some of the other DJs treated him like he was their equal.

He sighed. Seeing the red light blink in front of him, however, he put the thought away and picked up the call, just as the last strains of the song faded away.

"Good evening, this is Johnny at PRIME. What is your name and wish for this festive season?"

His voice was nearly a monotone before he remembered to make it encouraging instead. Stay professional, he commanded himself. He started to mentally brace himself for some ridiculous requests, however. Just two nights ago they got a call from a woman who wished that her husband would let her orgasm before he fell asleep after their sex session, and really, even Reever was trying to stifle his laughter at that.

The voice that came through was young and brash, saying, "Yeah, Jean here. Listen, I want a new mum. Or a new dad, whichever, can you help me there or what?"

.

Even the request sounded ridiculous, Jean mused. His fingers tapped on the back of the phone.

The DJ, he was pleased to note, sounded stunned. Or rather, the lack of an immediate response led Jean to believe that the DJ was indeed facing a request that was not the usual type. Jean rolled his eyes.

"Hey, you still there?"

The DJ cleared his throat. Really, quite unprofessional there, Jean thought almost gleefully.

"Hello there, Jean. You sound quite…young. Might I know how old you are?"

What that had to do with his wish, Jean didn't know. He sighed and obliged, however.

"I'm twelve."

"Twelve, okay – Jean, why is it that you want a new mum, or dad?"

.

Crap, crap, crap, Johnny thought, eyes widening. Was he dealing with a child abuse case here or something?

Reever had jolted awake and both he and Tapp were listening intently. He looked at them, the beginnings of panic in his eyes. Should he take this off-air, or what? He hoped his eyes, through his thick glasses, sufficiently conveyed the question.

Reever raised his hand, stopping him from pressing the button. He rotated his wrist in a gesture which probably meant for him to carry on.

Well, alright – Johnny gulped. In a strange fashion, he was starting to feel – was that excitement he was feeling, for the first time that night? He began to grin, shaky though the grin was.

.

Oh, yeah, they were supposed to dig into his life story or something along those lines. Jean scratched his head.

"Well, erm…" He tilted his head up to look at the ceiling. He could hear Allen still puttering around outside and that helped him make up his mind. "Right, kay, look here. My mum died two years ago. And dad is still moping." That should be enough to convey the message.

Johnny paused. Then, in a tone which suggested he didn't quite know what to say, he said, "I'm very sorry to hear that."

Jean shrugged. His heart still hurt a little, but he wasn't in chronic depression like his dad was. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, I guess. So can you help me or something? New mum, new dad – as long as dad's happy. You _did_ say we can call in with our wishes," Jean said hastily, in a defensive strike.

Johnny was quiet for a while again. Then he said, "Jean, listen – could you get your dad on the phone, if possible? I'd like to speak directly to him."

Jean narrowed his eyes. "What – a kid's not good enough for you?" He spat.

"No, no," the DJ hurried to assure, panic on the edges of his voice. Jean narrowed his eyes further. "I know you care for him" – Jean rolled his eyes, but didn't deny the fact – "and I'd like to speak to him to see if there's some way we can…help."

Jean huffed and tilted his head up, studying the ceiling again. Then again, it was him in the first place who thought another opinion could help…covering the mouthpiece, he hollered:

"Dad!"

.

Reever came in, followed by Tapp, making the room seem a lot smaller than it actually was considering that it was only built for two people at the most.

"Getting good, eh?" Tapp said cheerfully, taking the extra seat. Johnny pushed to the side to allow Reever into the space between the chairs.

"Rating's actually increasing," Reever muttered, looking at the little bar that indicated the number of people they had listening to them. It wasn't immediately noticeable, but the numbers were climbing a little – the housewives had probably called their friends to listen in as well.

"Keep talking with him, Johnny."

"Sir," Johnny whispered away from the mouthpiece, "I don't know what to say! What if I screw this up?"

Reever shrugged. "It's not like we're meant to be therapists. Just talk, find out this guy's story – the listeners will be all over him. And I'm sure we're all interested, ourselves."

There was the sound of a button being pressed over the line, and all three heads immediately swiveled around to face the sound control system, their breaths held.

.

"What is it, Jean?" Allen called back, pulled out of his reverie. There was nothing more to do with the boat so he had been left staring at it for a while now.

"Phone call! For you!"

Allen raised an eyebrow. A call? At this time? It couldn't be work with Christmas this near, and he didn't have friends so close that they would bother to call at this time of night.

Standing up and brushing the seat of his pants, he sighed and started heading indoors, intent on scolding Jean for being up this late. But first, the call. After closing the sliding door behind him, he bent and picked up the connecting phone on the living room table, unaware that Jean was on the connecting phone and squirming impatiently behind the kitchen door.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Ah, this is Johnny from PRIME at 753FM – "

Allen blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

The DJ cut to the chase. "Your son, Jean, called us regarding his Christmas wish – "

_Oh, hell no_. Allen snapped his head up. Uncaring that the mouthpiece was just next to him, he called, eyes narrowed, "Jean, get out here, now!"

Jean peeked out around the kitchen door, phone to his ear and looking entirely unrepentant. Allen resisted the urge to curse.

"Please, sir," the DJ – Johnny, he recalled – hurried to explain, "your son was very concerned for you, and he merely wanted to help."

Jean nearly gagged. "Very concerned"? Yeah sure he cared for his old pops alright, but Johnny was making him sound like a little girl.

Allen ignored the phone and Johnny in effect. "Come out here, Jean! I am _not_ going through this alone."

Jean took a step out, defiance written all over his face. "But you _were_ pouting, dad! And I'm sick of it!"

"Oh, dear lord," Allen groaned. "Jean, what possessed you to do this?"

The DJ cleared his throat. "Please do not blame your son, sir, he just wanted to find someone to…help, I believe."

And DJs were the most helpful people on earth, of course. Allen rolled his eyes.

"Jean," he said again, tiredly, and this time Jean's face dropped a little and he shuffled out a bit, still not going too near Allen. His grip was tight on the phone, his face aimed at the ground.

Allen sighed and moved closer, flopping onto the couch near the Christmas tree, leaving the side free for Jean. Carefully, Jean settled on the other edge, phone still held against his ear as he looked at Allen.

Allen said, evenly, "Look, Mister, uh…"

"Johnny," the voice said quickly, brightly, almost like an eager squirrel with huge eyes. "Just calling me Johnny is fine, sir."

"Right," Allen said in a distracted tone, looking at Jean out of the corner of his eye. "And um, this is for – "

"Your son called in to our Christmas Programme, to tell us his wish, and," his voice softened considerably, a gentler edge to it, "he was hoping that you'd be happy, again. If you could tell us a little more about – "

.

" – _what your situation is like?_"

Lavi whistled. "Bastard!" He said in awe. He knew radio competition was fierce, but _da-amn_, that was such a delightfully insensitive, not very clever move. Even though really, his inner gossip was wide awake and waiting to hear this. What little of the man's voice he had heard was pretty smooth, nice to listen to.

He signaled right, and carefully maneuvered onto the path to Washington.

.

Jean nodded. "Tell 'em, dad. It'll help, or something. I think."

Allen glared at him and mouthed, _you are so getting it later_.

Jean stuck out his tongue at him.

"Right, um…my wife…died," Allen said, feeling like he was forcing every word out, like he was lying on a couch telling his woes to a therapist that couldn't care less.

"Mm hmm," he could almost imagine the nod over the phone, "two years ago, is that correct?"

Just how much Jean told this almost total stranger, Allen didn't think he really wanted to know. He just sighed and went along. "Yes, two years ago."

There was silence for a while. He hoped that meant the conversation was over.

Alas, the Johnny fellow apparently registered the silence too and felt it was his duty to go on. "I think I can understand how that feels – "

.

Lavi snorted. And muttered, "Sure you do."

"_Sure you do,"_ the radio echoed back at him. Lavi blinked. For a second he took his eye off the quiet highway to grin at the radio, as though the man speaking on the programme could smile back at him.

.

"Sure you do," the man said over the line, the sarcasm hitting heavy before he coughed over the phone.

Johnny cringed. Stupid, stupid thing to say! Tapp patted him on the back sympathetically and nodded at him to just go on. Johnny couldn't say he blamed the man, considering how they have to keep at the conversation. Reever was wincing on his behalf as well.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Johnny continued, "And in those two years, you haven't dated, Mister…"

.

Allen leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. "Allen."

"Allen," the man affirmed. "You are…afraid to date?"

In his mind, he could see Lou Fa, smiling gently at him and Jean, pushing her new dish in front of them to sample, pouting when he stayed out late for work, and Allen knew, perfectly well, the reason.

.

"_There will never be someone like her, ever again._"

Lavi narrowed his eye. He had hardly the patience for such sappy twats on the radio, smooth voice or no.

Relationships were meant to be worked on, damn it. If this fellow were to go around believing in signs, then there damn well was a problem with his view of the world.

But despite that, Lavi found himself unable to change the radio station – like watching a train wreck, or getting hooked on weed, or whatever the equivalent was of being physically unable to reach over and flick that tiny button.

"_She sounds like a really special person, Mr. Allen._"

"…_Yes. I think she was._"

_Of course you would__ think so_. Lavi sighed, his lips twitching up in spite of himself.

.

"She can burn water. But even so, she could make the most amazing _mitarashii dango_, hands down."

"And onion bombs," Jean felt the need to add.

"And onion bombs," Allen agreed.

Johnny chuckled.

"Mom was stubborn too."

"Which was pretty much passed down to you," Allen added thoughtfully. Jean head butted against Allen's shoulder.

.

"_I see – we'll have to go into a quick break for now, and when we come back we'll still be having Mr. Allen on the line._"

A commercial started playing. Lavi groaned. The button was pressed, and soon nothing but the sound of the car wheels running smoothly was heard. Which was perfectly fine by Lavi. He could think well in silence, after all, and there was no need to seek companionship through some radio station –

He fidgeted.

Then he fidgeted some more.

"Oh, screw it."

Flicking the signal light again, he took a turn into a road leading to a rest stop. He might as well get some coffee for the trip home. And if he were going to continue listening to that drivel, it would be far better to have some caffeine in his system first.

The stop came with a small eatery, its orange lights warm and welcoming; the blast of heated air that met his face was equally welcome.

"Hello, love," a blonde behind the counter greeted, smiling at him and none-too-subtly taking in his eyepatch and red hair. Lavi just smiled. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Just a hot coffee, milk and no sugar, take-away."

"Coming right up, love."

Her partner, a heavy-set woman with curly hair, was standing near the radio, muttering to the girl as she came over, "Poor man, ain't he?"

"Oh, I don't know," she hummed, taking out a large tin mixer. "I feel sad, for sure, but the girls' gonna be all over him now."

"Not me, that I know."

"Oh Bertha, you sap, you know you will be."

"Quit it. What's this damn break for, eh, Har?"

The blonde, her name supposedly Har, grinned. "It's for people to call in, you know, give their little advice, pretend they're totally involved with this Allen."

_Surely they aren't_…Lavi's heart sank a little.

"So whatchu think? Think the girls that call in desperate, or what?" Her question was accompanied by the sloshing of a liquid, her spoon stirring fast and occasionally hitting the sides of mixer. "Cause you know, might call in myself, offer me condolences."

"Hmph, if you ask me that man's desperate himself too," Bertha said as she took out one of those disposable cups and lid, placing them next to the blonde.

"Oh, Bert. It's his son call in, no?"

"Coulda been all planned."

"You're too much of a pessimist, really," she poured the coffee into the Styrofoam cup, closing it securely with the lid and pushing it over the counter with a bright smile. "Here you go, mister."

Lavi smiled, weakly. "Thanks." He placed the correct amount of change in her hand.

"Oh!" Bertha flapped her hand at Har. "It's back!"

"_Good evening and if you're just tuned in, this is PRIME at 753FM with your host, Johnny. Just before this we had a Mr. Allen on the line talking about his Christmas wish, and now we'll be hearing some responses from our listeners…_"

Her friend stepped over to the radio as well, leaving Lavi clutching his cup tightly, uncertainty written all over his face.

Without him consciously registering the act, he spun and dashed back to his car, desperate to press that little button and resume listening to that show.

.

"This is all your fault," Allen said softly. Cradling the phone against his shoulder, he leaned back and pulled Jean against his side, trapping him in a headlock.

Jean smirked. "You were the one being all mopey." He squirmed about, attempting to gnaw on Allen's arm to get him to let go. Allen didn't appear to be paying attention.

"Mr. Allen?"

Oh, shoot, there was still the DJ to contend with. "Erm…yes?"

"I'm terribly sorry about the break, it's just…"

"Oh, that," he sunk back against the couch again, letting Jean go. Jean scowled and punched him in the side. "It, uh…no, it's okay – show to run, and all. Uh. What's this break about?"

"Where listeners can dump their love on you," Jean supplied helpfully.

"Gee, thanks," Allen said, though whether he was aiming it to Jean or Johnny he didn't quite know himself.

He could almost hear the wince through the phone as the words hit home. No matter how sincere his words were, or even how sympathetic the DJ was, in the end he was speaking on a radio show for pretty much the purpose of ratings.

"We would appreciate it if you stay on the line, but…"

Allen sighed. "What's done is done."

Johnny chuckled. "You have a spirited son, Mr. Allen."

"Bane of my life," Allen deadpanned. Jean shouted a "hey!" both at him and into the receiver. Johnny laughed. As Jean said something about who's being the bane of whom's life Allen could hear the commercial for Christmas dinner deliveries fading away in the background.

Johnny was timing it too. "We'll be back on air soon, Mr. Allen. I'll keep you on hold for a bit while we listen to some responses. But I think we can finish it in this segment," he added the end part in an apologetic tone.

"Alright," Allen said, tired. He mentally prepared himself to open his heart out to a total stranger and an invisible audience again.

He felt Jean nudging his head against Allen's arm. When he looked down he saw Jean biting his lip and refusing to meet his eyes. Smiling, he looped his arm around Jean's shoulders and hugged him to his side, keeping quiet as he heard Johnny saying, in a smooth DJ's voice, "Good evening and if you're just tuned in, this is PRIME at 753FM with your host, Johnny…"

.

"_**Hi**__, yes. I was just wondering, oh, well, just __**wondering**__, what is this man's address? His full name?" _

"_No full names on this programme, miss. Anything else you'd like to say?" _

"_Oh, he's such a __**dear**__, perhaps we can meet up some day?" _

"_I'm afraid this programme is not for arranging meet-ups, miss. Thank you for calling. Hi, who's this on the line?"_

Lavi tapped the fingers of his left arm on the side of the car, rolling his eye at each call that came in. There were three more or so along the same lines until the DJ seemed to realize he was getting nowhere either.

"_Oh, it's simply so terrible. I'd __**love**__ to have you over some day, sweetheart."_

"_Thank you, miss, I'm sure he appreciates the concern. And that was the last call we'll be taking for now. Mr. Allen, as our listeners were wondering – wouldn't you think you could fall in love again?" _

There was a lengthy pause. Lavi's fingers quickened their beat over the side of the car door. Now, though, now was the perfect time for him to change the station. He shouldn't be so involved in this station in the first place –

"_It's the million tiny things, really. I – "_

Lavi's fingers stilled and everything was quiet except for the sounds of the highway and a man speaking over the radio with a smooth, sad voice.

.

Allen swallowed. Jean had gradually shifted down, gravity pulling him until his head was in Allen's lap and his breaths were getting slower, deeper. Allen ran his fingers through Jean's hair.

"It's Christmas, you know. I've never properly celebrated it after my…my father's death. Then she…she made everything just – it was beautiful. We'd go places so ordinary. The science museum, she'd be teaching Jean all this little stuff that I couldn't have gotten, made him our prankster," Allen said, smiling down at Jean's sleeping face.

He remembered the times clearly, the city of Chicago so full of the memories of Lou Fa. The way he felt like there was someone he wanted to know when he held her hand to help her up after she fell. Their first Christmas when she gently encouraged him to celebrate with her, whether they believed in the religion or not, to do it for the spirit.

"When we first decorated the house together for Christmas, it was, she was – "

.

Lavi sighed, tilting his head to the side, expression going distant. He could hear the pure adoration in this man's voice. He could recall the movie marathons he and Lenalee would always run, and how in all those movies there was so much –

"Magic," he whispered, feeling the box heavy in his pocket again.

.

" – magic," Allen said with a sigh, coming back to the reality where a couch meant for three was occupied by two.

Jean breathed in and out steadily, his head a heavy weight on Allen's thigh. Allen stopped speaking and stared at the lights he and Jean had hung around the place instead. And the traditional Christmas tree they always had, even though it was too big now for both of them.

.

"…thank you, Mr. Allen. We hope you and Jean can have a wonderful celebration," Johnny said gently into his microphone. "We hope to hear from you again."

There was a pause again before Allen chuckled and said, "I'm sure you can count on it," before he hung up.

What a trained liar he was, Johnny thought with an amused shake of his head. "This is Johnny with you, on PRIME at 753FM, and we'll play our promised Christmas carols medley for you. If you have any wishes for this holiday season, do call us at 753-PRIME, that's 753-77463."

Pressing one of the many buttons on the board, Johnny took down his headphones and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Reever and Tapp smiled tiredly at him.

"Poor guy," Reever said, fiddling with a button to lower the volume of the music within the control room itself. "We don't get calls like that."

"Son meddled in it," Tapp remarked with a chuckle.

Johnny sighed. "I wonder if he's angry?" He wrung his hands together. It was never a pleasant experience to anger their listeners or callers, and Allen clearly had sarcastic wit at his hands, even if he had only used it against him minimally.

Reever grinned. "He sounded fine, probably just suffering it for Jean's sake. If he was really angry he would have hung up."

"And you can't worry about that," Tapp said, pointing at the board where it seemed like ten red lights were flashing at once, "you've got all these calls to take care of."

Groaning, Johnny pulled the headphones back over his ears and pressed the first one, using his professional DJ voice to say, for another of the uncountable times that evening, "Hello, Johnny from 753FM – "

* * *

**Notes:**

It's been forever since I started this fic! I've just re-watched Sleepless in Seattle and fell in love with it all over again. This part took me such a long time to get out, simply because it was one long unbroken segment in the movie as well so I had to fiddle around with the scene flows. Hopefully the rest of the parts can be got out in smoother fashion ;)

Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 2: Another Year Over

**Title:** Dear 'Sleepless in Seattle'

**Chapter 2:** Another Year Over (And a New One just Begun)

* * *

**25 December 2007**

The clock struck midnight. But there was no fleeing from the castle and carriages turning into pumpkins for Allen. All there was were the remnants of wrapping paper around their small tree, and the presents they traditionally kept for Christmas day itself. Jean had been tucked into bed an hour ago. He had put up a valiant fight against drooping eyelids, Allen thought with a smile – he knew Jean still secretly hoped to hear sleigh bells on Christmas day.

He lay back on the couch and stared out the window. Across the pier the lights of the little town shone, a backdrop to the blinking lights on their Christmas tree. This year Jean had added little onion decorations to it; he had made those in art class. Lou Fa's favourite star had its honoured place on the top of the tree. When Allen looked at it his heart ached and he had to close his eyes.

Through the night, over their quiet father-son dinner and opening one present each, he thought he could feel her with them. He wondered if Jean felt it too, or whether it was just his wishful thinking. Their table was never meant to seat only two; Lou Fa was supposed to have been there, spooning more gravy onto Jean's plate, and chiding both father and son for avoiding their peas. Now when it was quiet he thought, more than ever, that she was still with him. He could almost imagine her sitting at the arm of the couch, looking at him with those large, sad eyes of hers.

"Oh, Allen. You have to let go of me," she would say. It was what everyone told him, that Lou Fa wouldn't want him to mope around, she'd want for him and Jean to be happy.

He looked into her eyes – he imagined looking into her eyes, and he said, "I miss you so much, Lou Fa."

"I know, my dear, I know." At this point she would have reached out to pat him on his ankle, her eyes still unbearably sad. With so much love that he knew he would never find again. That call with PRIME only confirmed it. She looked the same as ever, in his mind's eye. Her hair tied in its two tails, like a schoolgirl. He had loved it, to him she had the youthful energy needed to raise a spirited child like Jean. The two bands of white flowers that clasped her ponytails in place were her only concessions to fashion. She would be dressed in a simple shirt and track pants around the home, and that was what he saw now. Or imagined. He could no longer tell, her presence was so strong, together with the smell of clean baby lotion she used to rub on her skin before sleep.

"I wish you were here," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing an arm over it. The lights from their tree and the town were blocked out. He could concentrate on the smell better, the faint wisps of it lingering around the couch.

But when he opened his eyes again she was gone from the end of the couch, leaving only the view of faint lights beyond the pier.

.

**27 December 2007**

Bookman's publishing company "Persona" was flourishing as usual – employees were handling the little snippets and flow of information that had accumulated over the holiday. They were a social commentary magazine company, so there was always research to be done and interesting articles to be had. Lavi weaved his way through cubicles and side-stepped piles of paper – those were rather hazardous, he thought as he hummed to himself. If someone were to just throw a lighted match down and the whole place were to catch fire – well, chances were, Bookman would kill him as the default guilty suspect. The point still stood, maybe they should get to clearing up the place soon.

…maybe it could wait till after New Year's. Never let it be said that Lavi did things today that could be achieved tomorrow.

He used his hip to push open the door to the discussion room and raised his hand in a cheerful wave. There were three replies in turn, the loudest of which was "hey, old man!"

"Who're you calling old!" Lavi protested, his eye narrowed. Alma widened his eyes, one hand flying to his mouth as though in shock. His face had always been expressive, Lavi thought fondly. The Chinese style top he had on was new – probably a gift from the holiday season. Lavi wondered how cruel it would be if he were to accidentally spill coffee over his co-worker.

Alma was saved from that fate when Lenalee tweaked his ear, just slightly, as she returned to her seat from where she had been rummaging for biscuits. "No quarrelling so soon after the holiday – well," she considered, "no quarrelling at all would be nice. How was your holiday, Lavi?" She asked, a warm smile on her face.

"Do tell," the final member of their quartet added, a similar smile on his face. Doug was cradling his cup of tea. "You had to do something important, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah!" Alma gasped, looking up from where he had been contemplating the biscuit flavours. "How was that? How was that!"

Lavi gazed down for a moment, looking for all the world like somebody had killed his dog, or like he was a kicked puppy himself. Doug raised an eyebrow. When he looked around he saw that both Alma and Lenalee wide eyes – they looked as though they were about to reach out at any moment to hug and to comfort. Doug shook his head and sipped at his tea.

"I'm sure it's not that bad – " Lenalee started before she realized she didn't know how to continue.

Alma nodded, his fingers twitching against the table top. "Yeah, maybe you just need to talk more with them – "

Both of them were startled (Doug just contemplated which tea flavour to choose next) when Lavi lifted his head with a giant beam, the fingers of his right hand curled in a victory sign. Lenalee and Alma gaped.

"Worked out okay," he said, eye scrunched up, laughter clear in them. "Gotcha, didn't I?"

"Darn you!" Alma said, a finger pointed at Lavi. He was smiling too, so the effect was ruined. Lenalee shook her head and tried to school her features into something stern, to no effect. She was smiling too widely.

"Well, congratulations are in order! Families have agreed, and soon we'll have a married man on our hands," Lenalee said. "Oh, that means we have to get you presents! When are you getting married?"

"We're still thinking of the date. April – any time in spring, really – would be the earliest," Lavi explained as he stepped over to the dispenser in the corner to fill his favourite mug (white with dancing hammers plastered all over) with the sweet, sweet flow of black coffee. That done he settled down in the empty seat between Doug and Lenalee. Doug just grinned at him over his cup.

Lavi had been working with Bookman for – oh, a long time, certainly longer than Lenalee, Doug and Alma. He had seen his share of workers who couldn't handle working with Bookman; but after working with this team for two years, under weekly duress of deadlines, he was certain that all of his team members were here to stay until they chose to leave.

And he honestly couldn't ask for a better team. There was comfort in coming to work and knowing his team was there to support each other in any way possible, so much so that they knew details of each other's lives. Lenalee, Doug and Alma were the first few to know when he decided he would ask Sachiko to marry him. Even with their ribbing Lavi knew he had all the support he needed, professionally and emotionally.

Today was just a normal day at the office, when they got into a rush of assignments and reports before New Year's. Lenalee, satisfied with his answer for now, smiled at him before turning back to her notebook and tapping a few keys. Her browser already had several tabs open. Lavi leaned over to take a better look.

"Alright, let's finish this quick so we can get to celebrating our groom-to-be. There shouldn't be much since it was just the holidays…" Lenalee said, her head tilted to the side. Doug and Alma had leaned forward. Alma was spinning a biscuit between his fingers as he listened to Lenalee.

"Think this is worth noting?" Lenalee cleared her throat and read out from a news report that had already been relegated to the second page of search results. "From yesterday, 26th December: Lines to PRIME 753FM were clogged up all night on 23rd December after a boy called in to their Christmas Programme, asking for a new spouse for his father.

"Callers were hoping to find out more about this mystery man who spoke on the show, a "Mr. Allen" who PRIME has divulged as having called from Seattle – "

"Oh, yeah!" Lavi said, snapping his fingers. All their attention turned to him. "I heard him too. The son calls in, right, asking for a new mother or father. Then he gets his dad to the phone and he starts talking about how he'll never fall in love again, because she's a special lady and all that. And when I went into a café the waitresses were talking about him too. Sounds like he was a hit."

"Really?" Alma said, sounding interested. He took a bite of biscuit. "It was on what, PRIME?"

"Better known for its late night programmes," Doug offered. "Though it's one of the smaller channels…"

"Oh, there were tears in my eye, for real. Bet you woulda done the same, if you heard him," Lavi sniffed, looking up wide-eyed at Lenalee.

Lenalee laughed and pushed him away, though she did pat him on the head. Lavi wasn't entirely lying – he didn't have tears, but he did feel something for this Allen fellow. And with the news report he knew he wasn't the only one. He was a bit surprised though, that it was enough to make news, even if on a small section.

Doug hummed. "It's probably worth keeping an eye on, in any case. I don't think we've done much on radio programmes. New technology, sure, maybe this time we could go more retro."

"Oooh, or modern day romance!" Alma said after he had swallowed his mouthful of biscuit. "Dunno whether he'll find someone again – could be a failed romance novel," Alma said, looking a little sad.

Lavi did happen to like those romance novels. There was a hidden section in his shelf dedicated to them. He wondered whether he should show it to Sachiko when she next went over. "Don't think the Allen guy was expecting much of anything, though," Lavi commented. Alma mulled over it for a bit before he agreed by nodding and finishing off the other half of the biscuit that he had held in his hand.

"Okay, I'll just note this down" – there was a lull while Lenalee copied the URL and typed some notes into a word document – "and how about this: Animal lovers are on a campaign to interview potential pet owners during the holiday season – a large number of pets are abandoned yearly after the holiday season…"

Lavi tuned out, though his ears were listening and if asked later, he could repeat everything verbatim. His thoughts went back to the Mr. Allen on PRIME. He wondered if the man had a lonely Christmas – well, he still has his son, Jean, and from what Lavi heard the boy was a force to be reckoned with. He himself had a wonderful break after the dinner at Cross's, and a small, irrational stab of guilt assaulted him at the thought. It wasn't nice to feel thankful through comparing with somebody else.

Still, maybe he wouldn't be lonely for long. He was sure some people would be trying to get through to him, whether out of desperation or genuine sympathy for him. He sounded like a good man, a good husband and father. Surely if Lavi was thinking this, and surely if there was even a small news report on it, many others have felt the same and would want to make sure he spent the next Christmas with a lifelong companion by his side?

" – I just wish they put on different movies this time of year," Alma said. Lavi tuned back in. He was always up for a movie discussion. "How many times have they shown _Love Actually_ already?"

"You could spend the holidays not watching the TV," Doug chided, his mother hen nature coming back up.

"There's something to be said about old favourites though," Lenalee said with a far-away look in her eyes, her note taking long forgotten. "Like – "

"_An Affair to Remember_," Lavi chorused with her. Then they both sighed.

Alma and Doug looked at each other. Alma liked the movie well enough, but he was always on the search for new things to add to his experiences. Doug preferred to spend his time with books and his cousin Colette.

"That should have been creepy," Doug said with a smile. Lenalee's glare at him was without heat.

Lavi sighed again. "It's such a classic. Maybe I should have proposed to Sachiko at the top of the Empire State building."

"Oh, gosh. Yes," Lenalee agreed, "that would be something. Very fitting, for your personalities."

They made a spontaneous pair, Lavi knew. Their relationship was so smooth sailing because they shared same view of how they wanted life to be lived. Not…_exactly_ the same view, Lavi amended. Sachiko could be a handful; she was the type to flit from place to place, living life joyously. Lavi loved that about her. It would make their married life a lot more interesting, though maybe he should make a note to discuss some practical matters with her before the marriage.

Alma laughed. "We're so getting off topic." And they really were, if even Alma was pointing it out. What were they supposed to be researching on again? They only had two topics up till now and four of them to split it between.

"Oh, what the heck. Let's go grab some lunch first. And celebrate Lavi's milestone," Lenalee declared, punctuating it by closing her notebook lid. She smiled at Lavi. "Work can wait. You have to tell us more about your holiday!"

Lavi looked around. Doug and Alma had nodded in agreement and were gathering the cups and biscuits into the cleaning corner. All of them had a similar look of joy on their faces. It made Lavi smile, and forget for a while the matters he wanted to discuss with Sachiko. "Okay, okay," Lavi said, hands raised in surrender. "Lunch is on me, then."

.

**31 December 2007**

There were countdown parties to be had in their town. Allen had allowed Jean to choose how he wanted to celebrate, but for once he wanted to stay home with Dad and watch the Times Square celebration. Allen had no objections to that.

Jean had been secretive the past few days. A growing boy should have his privacy, so Allen didn't pry, and Jean didn't offer any answer. He was cheerful enough when they settled down after dinner with blankets and snacks, and they had jumped from topic to topic in between comments on the extravagant celebrations taking place around the world. Until Jean yawned and burrowed into the space beneath Allen's arm, reminding his Dad to wake him up in time for the countdown, or he would, or he would…

That was about half an hour ago. Without Jean's chatter Allen had allowed himself to zone out, not so much watching the TV as just seeing it. The Times Square celebration was in full swing; Allen wondered, idly, how the space could be packed with so many humans breathing the same cold air. The noise got louder from the screen, which was when Allen realized it was less than a minute to the New Year.

He shook his son's shoulder. "Wake up, Jean," he said, voice soft but urgent. It had enough of his morning voice that Jean stirred awake, his hands clutched tight on the blanket. "Look, it's the Times Square countdown."

"Hrrrmflaaaagah?" Jean said. He squinted in the direction of the TV before dropping against his father's arm, dead asleep before he had even settled onto the limb.

Allen sighed. He grabbed the remote control and lowered the volume just in time. The crowd screamed "HAPPY NEW YEAR" and in that instant his screen was filled with the image of kissing couples. He wondered how the cameras managed that. Surely they would need hundreds to catch close-ups like these. Wouldn't that have disturbed the people? And where were the fireworks?

Even when the camera panned up to capture the fireworks Allen didn't much care for it. He muted the speakers and laid down next to his son, who was taking slow, deep breaths. His hair smelt of the new shampoo – sea salt – that they had bought recently. He pressed his nose into the clean scent and slung his unoccupied arm around Jean's waist. Meanwhile the images from the screen flickered light and shadow over the opposite wall. Allen decided his son had the right idea. He settled to sleep – or at least, attempted to sleep – next to the boy, wishing for a better year ahead for both of them.

.

Lavi was a little – okay, more than a little – exhausted, though he'd never admit it to anyone. The four days since boxing day had been filled with work and editing. But a promise was a promise, and he was happy to bring Sachiko to the last dance ball of 2007, even happier when he could hear Sachiko's laughter as he twirled her around the dance floor. Around them couples were doing the same, determined to end the year with a bang, and to start the new year with the one they loved. Whenever they spun, a whirl of chandelier lights, women in gowns of assorted colours, and men in their dark jackets would make him dizzy for that split second before he could focus on Sachiko's open, delighted face once more.

"Game for another one?" Lavi called out. Even though the distance between them was short he had to fight over the noise of the music and everyone around them. The band was segueing into another fast paced number.

Sachiko grinned at him, her previously bound hair already out of place. Lavi had the urge to mess it up a little more. She shouted back, "Did you even have to ask!"

In reply Lavi dipped her low – eliciting a startled whoop from her – and brought her back up to dance again. Every time Sachiko nearly stepped on his toes Lavi moved his foot away just in time. It made for some lop-sided dancing, and Lavi brushed shoulders with another dancing couple more times than not, but it was no matter. Everyone was drunk on the thrill of welcoming a different year. Lavi was drunk on both adrenaline and exhaustion. On the stage the band played away, seeming to never tire as the clock ticked steadily to the midnight stroke.

Maybe he should be thinking there was no place he would rather be – well, except in the Jurassic era riding a raptor, because wouldn't that be _awesome_? – but he really wanted to be in bed, preferably with Sachiko tucked against his side. The amount of heat generated by the people in the room was enough to make him think it wasn't winter outside, and he was dying for a drink. Something cold – woah, a near brush of death with two other couples, saved by his expert maneuvering. Sachiko laughed, which made Lavi snap his attention back to her and grin.

"Ladies and gents! LADIES AND GENTS!" An announcer with a squeaky voice called out. The music lowered in volume in response to his not so subtle look. "Thank you, band. It is now a minute to midnight! Did everyone have fun?" He squeaked. Without waiting for a response he continued with, "Now grab a drink, your loved one, and let us say goodbye to 2007 in style in the minute to go!"

A drink was one of those rare species of organisms that remained out of Lavi's reach. He looked mournfully at the far side of the hall where servers had just been attacked by thirsty people.

"Oh, we'll get one later," Sachiko said, leaning against Lavi's side. Lavi encircled her small waist with his arm. "Had fun, Lav?"

Lavi smiled, squeezing her against his side. "Besides nearly tripping and dying? Yeah. You, Cho?"

"Oh, I'm good, I'm good! Y'know, maybe we should take lessons after all, if we're gonna open the dances at our wedding."

"The horror. I see broken toes in my future."

She punched Lavi in the arm. "Do you or do you not want to get married, mister?"

"And have sex legally? Why, of course I do, dearest." It was accompanied by a lecherous grin which Sachiko was used to. She tweaked his nose and was about to reply when the squeaky announcer clambered on stage again.

"Ladies and gents! LADIES AND GENTS!" He cleared his throat, not that it did much good. "It is now fifteen seconds to the New Year! Aaaaaaand…TEN! NINE!"

"EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX!" The combined voices in the hall took up the countdown, drowning out the squeaks.

"FIVE! FOUR!" Sachiko shouted with them. She was brimming with excitement, her eyes fixed on the large clock in the hall.

"Three, two," Lavi said in a quiet voice. It was going to be the year of his wedding, just months until he said his vows and married the woman beside him.

"ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

The dance hall dimmed as fireworks burst into view outside the grand windows. Lavi kissed Sachiko, his eye closed against the explosion of colours, ears taking in the cheers and the distant _boom – boom – boom_ of fireworks. Sachiko smiled against the kiss, and Lavi told himself, _yes, 2008 is going to be a better year yet_.

.

**03 January 2008**

Allen never saw the point in having work start two days after the New Year. People had hangovers, were drunk, or were still drinking. He was used to waking up at five every morning to do his exercises, even if he got little to no sleep the night before, so it didn't matter to him. It certainly did matter to the boy banging and crashing about his bathroom upstairs. Allen shook his head and settled down at the computer table with his pot of tea.

He hadn't checked his email in a while. It had always been tradition in the Walker family to celebrate Christmas and New Year without too much interference of technology. He wouldn't have dealt with work in any case, especially since the flurry of work was completed before the holiday season.

He had just taken a sip of tea when he clicked on the little icon to check his mail.

_Welcome back, Allen Walker. You have __**212**__ unread emails_.

Allen choked on his tea.

After he had cleaned up the liquid and taken a deep breath – maybe they were supposed to spell prosperity for their company in the new year ahead? – he clicked on the icon to reveal the contents of his inbox.

Two seconds later Allen pushed back from the table. He stood up, took a deep breath, and looked up at the part of the ceiling where his son's room was.

"JEAN WALKER. YOU ARE GOING TO COME DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT OR SO HELP ME, YOUR PRECIOUS BOMBS ARE GOING TO BE EATEN BY OUR NON-EXISTENT DOG."

.

"212?" Jean's face dropped. "There should be more."

Allen didn't like the sound of that, but he didn't quite dare to ask.

"Oh. Maybe some of them are sending letters," Jean guessed, a furrow between his brows. "But emails are tons faster, right, Pop?"

Jean must have realized his mistake of addressing Allen, because his small shoulders stiffened and he glanced back, slowly, with an angelic smile on his face. "Well – _technically_, not all of these are fan mail. Like, I bet twenty of them are junk, and another twenty are boring work stuff, then you've gotta add those stuff you subscribe to and hey, maybe it's only, like, 150? Maybe?" He beamed up at his father.

Allen reminded himself that he loved Jean Walker, who was his son, and that homicide was an offence in the face of the law. He smiled instead. Jean squeaked and pressed himself against the desktop screen.

"Jean Walker. You are going to explain to me, very clearly, what possessed you to give our house address and my email address to these people."

"It's really only to one place, not 212 – "

"Jean."

Jean looked at his father's smiling face and swallowed. "I gave it to PRIME…because I want you to be happy again, Dad!" He said, a surge of helplessness taking over him.

Allen's smile dropped, replaced with widening eyes and then a sad face, which Jean _hated_. "Oh, Jean – "

"No! Don't '_oh Jean_' me! Dad, I love Mum, and I always will. And I know you love me, but can't you see how sad you are? I love Mum and I love _you_ too, and I hate it when you're sad, and I hate it even more when you try to pretend you're not sad, because you are! I may not know what all that r-romance stuff is about, but I – I just want you all happy again. That's all. It's why…"

Allen was so still and quiet Jean didn't dare to look up at him, so he stared at Allen's feet. His father was wearing those ridiculous socks Jean got him for Christmas, black socks with Venetian masks all over them, and it just made Jean feel guilty all over again for bringing trouble to Allen's life. He gripped at his pants leg.

"Go eat your breakfast, Jean," Allen said.

Jean couldn't hear what Allen was feeling. He looked up at him. His father had a thoughtful, far-away look on his face. Jean nodded glumly and shuffled off to the dining table in his matching, child-sized pair of Venetian-masked socks.

"And Jean?"

Jean looked back over his shoulder. "Yeah?" He asked in a small voice.

"After school, you will be helping me sort out the mail," Allen said, looking at his son with a soft smile.

Jean grinned. The scrambled eggs, toast, and roasted tomatoes smelt better this time round.

.

On the walk home Allen took his time to feel utterly ashamed of himself, so he could be calm when Jean came home from school later. How could he, a father, be so heedless of his son's worry? There were several tempting walls on the walk home – he resisted from knocking his head on any of them.

He pulled his coat around himself and focused on the rhythm of his walking. The umbrella tapped along at the same rhythm, providing the perfect backdrop to self-indulged thoughts.

Around Christmas it was difficult not to think of her and the decade long of family bliss they had shared. He knew now that Jean knew he couldn't let her go. Part of it was the way she had gone away from them – an accident. A car accident. Of all the things, of all the prosaic stuff life was made out of…she died from an accident written of in novels. He had already gone through the _why me why her why us_ routine two years ago so he refused to get into it again. But he wouldn't deny it was part of why he still mourned her two years on.

It was like how he couldn't let go of Mana, long after his death. Still, that was different, wasn't it? He had put his grief of Mana to rest, why couldn't he do the same for Lou Fa?

Allen mulled on it, his umbrella swinging from his hand to tap on the ground every few steps. He was already at his doorstep before he knew it. The walk to school was a half hour one, which Jean didn't mind since he used his rollerblades to get there, and Allen liked walking with him. But when he wasn't concentrating on the road and keeping Jean from knocking into corners the walk flew by quicker than usual. He unlocked the door and stepped into the empty house. With a tiny huff of breath he unlaced his boots, taking a moment to put away his coat and umbrella before looking at the innocently gleaming desktop screen.

Jean was going to do his part of the work, oh yes. Allen nodded and went to his room to get a novel to read. If he was going to mull and sort out his feelings he might as well feel marginally productive while doing so.

* * *

**Notes:**

Happy 2012! Just as well this is posted in the new year :) I follow the work/school calendar in a country that does not have seasons, apologies if Jean is supposed to start school later than what I've written here!

In the next part: Some new romance, oh my? Maybe the 212 email messages (plus more to come) will pay off. May you enjoy when the next installment arrives!


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